Anne Kingsmill Finch
The Lyon And The Gnat
To the still Covert of a Wood About the prime of Day, A Lyon, satiated with Food, With stately Pace, and sullen Mood, Now took his lazy way. To Rest he there himself compos’d,
The Owl Describing her Young Ones
Why was that baleful Creature made, Which seeks our Quiet to invade, And screams ill Omens through the Shade? ‘Twas, sure, for every Mortals good, When, by wrong painting of her Brood, She doom’d
Jealousy
VAIN Love, why do’st thou boast of Wings, That cannot help thee to retire! When such quick Flames Suspicion brings, As do the Heart about thee fire. Still Swift to come, but when to
La Passion Vaincue
On the Banks of the Severn a desperate Maid (Whom some Shepherd, neglecting his Vows, had betray’d,) Stood resolving to banish all Sense of the Pain, And pursue, thro’ her Death, a Revenge on
The Unequal Fetters
Cou’d we stop the time that’s flying Or recall itt when ’tis past Put far off the day of Dying Or make Youth for ever last To Love wou’d then be worth our cost.
The King and the Shepherd
Through ev’ry Age some Tyrant Passion reigns: Now Love prevails, and now Ambition gains Reason’s lost Throne, and sov’reign Rule maintains. Tho’ beyond Love’s, Ambition’s Empire goes; For who feels Love, Ambition also knows,
Reformation
A Gentleman, most wretched in his Lot, A wrangling and reproving Wife had got, Who, tho’ she curb’d his Pleasures, and his Food, Call’d him My Dear, and did it for his Good, Ills
The Bird and the Arras
By neer resemblance see that Bird betray’d Who takes the well wrought Arras for a shade There hopes to pearch and with a chearfull Tune O’re-passe the scortchings of the sultry Noon. But soon
Consolation
See, Phoebus breaking from the willing skies, See, how the soaring Lark, does with him rise, And through the air, is such a journy borne As if she never thought of a return. Now,
Fragment at Tunbridge-Wells
FOR He, that made, must new create us, Ere Seneca, or Epictetus, With all their serious Admonitions, Can, for the Spleen, prove good Physicians. The Heart’s unruly Palpitation Will not be laid by a
On the Death of the Honourable Mr. James Thynne
Farewell, lov’d Youth! since ’twas the Will of Heaven So soon to take, what had so late been giv’n; And thus our Expectations to destroy, Raising a Grief, where we had form’d a Joy;
The Tree
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade ‘Tis just that some return be made; Sure some return is due from me To thy cool shadows, and to thee. When thou to birds dost shelter give,
To The Painter Of An Ill-drawn Picture of Cleone
Sooner I’d praise a Cloud which Light beguiles, Than thy rash Hand which robs this Face of Smiles; And does that sweet and pleasing Air control, Which to us paints the fair CLEONE’s Soul.
The Atheist And The Acorn
Methinks this World is oddly made, And ev’ry thing’s amiss, A dull presuming Atheist said, As stretch’d he lay beneath a Shade; And instanced in this: Behold, quoth he, that mighty thing, A Pumpkin,
Hope
The Tree of Knowledge we in Eden prov’d; The Tree of Life was thence to Heav’n remov’d: Hope is the growth of Earth, the only Plant, Which either Heav’n, or Paradise cou’d want. Hell
The Man And His Horse
Within a Meadow, on the way, A sordid Churl resolv’d to stay, And give his Horse a Bite; Purloining so his Neighbours Hay, That at the Inn he might not pay For Forage all
An Apology for my fearfull temper
Tis true of courage I’m no mistress No Boadicia nor Thalestriss Nor shall I e’er be famed hereafter For such a Soul as Cato’s Daughter Nor active valour nor enduring Nor leading troops nor
The Phoenix
A Female Friend advis’d a Swain (Whose Heart she wish’d at ease) Make Love thy Pleasure, not thy Pain, Nor let it deeply seize. Beauty, where Vanities abound, No serious Passion claims; Then, ’till
The Spleen
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev’ry thing dost ape? Thou Proteus to abus’d Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause cou’d find, Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape. Still varying thy
The Change
POOR River, now thou’rt almost dry, What Nymph, or Swain, will near thee lie? Since brought, alas! to sad Decay, What Flocks, or Herds, will near thee stay? The Swans, that sought thee in
The Poor Man's Lamb
NOW spent the alter’d King, in am’rous Cares, The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray’rs: In vain the Alter waits his slow returns, Where unattended Incense faintly burns: In vain the whisp’ring Priests
The House of Socrates
FOR Socrates a House was built, Of but inferiour Size; Not highly Arch’d, nor Carv’d, nor Gilt; The Man, ’tis said, was Wise. But Mob despis’d the little Cell, That struck them with no
Moral Song
Would we attain the happiest State, That is design’d us here; No Joy a Rapture must create, No Grief beget Despair. No Injury fierce Anger raise, No Honour tempt to Pride; No vain Desires
The Executor
A Greedy Heir long waited to fulfill, As his Executor, a Kinsman’s Will; And to himself his Age repeated o’er, To his Infirmities still adding more; And nicely kept th’ Account of the expected
Life's Progress
How gayly is at first begun Our Life’s uncertain Race! Whilst yet that sprightly Morning Sun, With which we just set out to run Enlightens all the Place. How smiling the World’s Prospect lies
Friendship Between Ephelia And Ardelia
Eph. What Friendship is, ARDELIA shew. Ard. ‘Tis to love, as I love You. Eph. This Account, so short (tho’ kind) Suits not my enquiring Mind. Therefore farther now repeat; What is Friendship when
The Dog And His Master
NO better Dog e’er kept his Master’s Door Than honest Snarl, who spar’d nor Rich nor Poor; But gave the Alarm, when any one drew nigh, Nor let pretended Friends pass fearless by: For
Verses
Observe this Piece, which to our Sight does bring The fittest Posture for the Swedish King; (Encompass’d, as we think, with Armies round, Tho’ not express’d within this narrow Bound) Who, whilst his warlike
The Cautious Lovers
Silvia, let’s from the Crowd retire; For, What to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all that here we see? Apart we’ll live, tho’ not alone; For, who alone can
T of the Fifth Scene in the Second Act of Athalia
Enter, as in the Temple of Jerusalem, ATHALIA, MATHAN, ABNER [Mathan] WHY, to our Wonder, in this Place is seen, Thus discompos’d, and alter’d, Juda’s Queen? May we demand, what Terrors seize your Breast,
Alcidor
While Monarchs in stern Battle strove For proud Imperial Sway; Abandon’d to his milder Love, Within a silent peaceful Grove, Alcidor careless lay. Some term’d it cold, unmanly Fear; Some, Nicety of Sense, That
The Marriage of Edward Herbert Esquire, and Mrs. Elizabeth Herbert
CUPID one day ask’d his Mother, When she meant that he shou’d Wed? You’re too Young, my Boy, she said: Nor has Nature made another Fit to match with Cupid’s Bed. Cupid then her
To Death
O King of Terrors, whose unbounded Sway All that have Life, must certainly Obey; The King, the Priest, the Prophet, all are Thine, Nor wou’d ev’n God (in Flesh) thy Stroke decline. My Name
To A Husband
This is to the crown and blessing of my life, The much loved husband of a happy wife; To him whose constant passion found the art To win a stubborn and ungrateful heart, And
To The Nightingale
Exert thy Voice, sweet Harbinger of Spring! This Moment is thy Time to sing, This Moment I attend to Praise, And set my Numbers to thy Layes. Free as thine shall be my Song;
For the Better
A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred, With frequent Visits cursed his Patient’s Bed; Enquiring, how he did his Broths digest, How chim’d his Pulse, and how he took his Rest: If
The Eagle, The Sow, And The Cat
THE Queen of Birds, t’encrease the Regal Stock, Had hatch’d her young Ones in a stately Oak, Whose Middle-part was by a Cat possest, And near the Root with Litter warmly drest, A teeming
Cupid And Folly
CUPID, ere depriv’d of Sight, Young and apt for all Delight, Met with Folly on the way, As Idle and as fond of Play. In gay Sports the time they pass; Now run, now
Man's Injustice Towards Providence
A Thriving Merchant, who no Loss sustained, In little time a mighty Fortune gain’d. No Pyrate seiz’d his still returning Freight; Nor foundring Vessel sunk with its own Weight: No Ruin enter’d through dissever’d
The Equipage
Since the Road of Life’s so ill; I, to pass it, use this Skill, My frail Carriage driving home To its latest Stage, the Tomb. Justice first, in Harness strong, Marches stedfastly along: Charity,
The Shepherd And The Calm
Soothing his Passions with a warb’ling Sound, A Shepherd-Swain lay stretch’d upon the Ground; Whilst all were mov’d, who their Attention lent, Or with the Harmony in Chorus went, To something less than Joy,
A Tale of the Miser and the Poet
A WIT, transported with Inditing, Unpay’d, unprais’d, yet ever Writing; Who, for all Fights and Fav’rite Friends, Had Poems at his Fingers Ends; For new Events was still providing; Yet now desirous to be
A Song
Persuade me not, there is a Grace Proceeds from Silvia’s Voice or Lute, Against Miranda’s charming Face To make her hold the least Dispute. Musick, which tunes the Soul for Love, And stirs up
The Philosopher, the Young Man, and his Statue
A Fond Athenian Mother brought A Sculptor to indulge her Thought, And carve her Only Son; Who to such strange perfection wrought, That every Eye the Statue caught Nor ought was left undone. A
The LORD and the BRAMBLE
To view his stately Walks and Groves, A Man of Pow’r and Place Was hast’ning on; but as he roves, His Foe the slighted Bramble proves, And stops his eager Pace. That Shrub was
Three Songs
LOVE, thou art best of Human Joys, Our chiefest Happiness below; All other Pleasures are but Toys, Musick without Thee is but Noise, And Beauty but an empty Show. Heav’n, who knew best what
The Man Bitten By Fleas
A Peevish Fellow laid his Head On Pillows, stuff’d with Down; But was no sooner warm in Bed, With hopes to rest his Crown, But Animals of slender size, That feast on humane Gore,
The Petition for an Absolute Retreat
Give me, O indulgent Fate! Give me yet before I die A sweet, but absolute retreat, ‘Mongst paths so lost and trees so high That the world may ne’er invade Through such windings and
The Tradesman and the Scholar
A Citizen of mighty Pelf, But much a Blockhead, in himself Disdain’d a Man of shining Parts, Master of Sciences and Arts, Who left his Book scarce once a day For sober Coffee, Smoak,
On Myselfe
Good Heav’n, I thank thee, since it was design’d I shou’d be fram’d, but of the weaker kinde, That yet, my Soul, is rescu’d from the Love Of all those Trifles, which their Passions
From The First Act Of The Aminta Of Tasso
Daphne’s Answer to Sylvia, declaring she Should esteem all as Enemies, Who should talk to her of LOVE. THEN, to the snowy Ewe, in thy esteem, The Father of the Flock a Foe must
The Appology
‘Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule I am alone forbid to play the fool To follow through the Groves a wand’ring Muse And fain’d Idea’s for my pleasures chuse Why
A Pastoral Dialogue Between Two Shepherdesses
[Silvia] Pretty Nymph! within this Shade, Whilst the Flocks to rest are laid, Whilst the World dissolves in Heat, Take this cool, and flow’ry Seat: And with pleasing Talk awhile Let us two the
To Mr. F. Now Earl of W
No sooner, FLAVIO, was you gone, But, your Injunction thought upon, ARDELIA took the Pen; Designing to perform the Task, Her FLAVIO did so kindly ask, Ere he returned agen. Unto Parnassus strait she
The Hog, The Sheep, And Goat, Carrying To A FAIR
Who does not wish, ever to judge aright, And, in the Course of Life’s Affairs, To have a quick, and far extended Sight, Tho’ it too often multiplies his Cares? And who has greater
The Hymn
To the Almighty on his radiant Throne, Let endless Hallelujas rise! Praise Him, ye wondrous Heights to us unknown, Praise Him, ye Heavens unreach’d by mortal Eyes, Praise Him, in your degree, ye sublunary
An Invitation to Dafnis
When such a day, blesst the Arcadian plaine, Warm without Sun, and shady without rain, Fann’d by an air, that scarsly bent the flowers, Or wav’d the woodbines, on the summer bowers, The Nymphs
Glass
O Man! what Inspiration was thy Guide, Who taught thee Light and Air thus to divide; To let in all the useful Beams of Day, Yet force, as subtil Winds, without thy Shash to
Adam Pos'd
Cou’d our First Father, at his toilsome Plough, Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow, Cloath’d only in a rude, unpolish’d Skin, Cou’d he a vain Fantastick Nymph have seen, In all
In Praise Of Writing Letters
Blest be the Man! his Memory at least, Who found the Art, thus to unfold his Breast, And taught succeeding Times an easy way Their secret Thoughts by Letters to convey; To baffle Absence,
An EPISTLE from Alexander to Hephaestion In His Sickness
WITH such a Pulse, with such disorder’d Veins, Such lab’ring Breath, as thy Disease constrains; With failing Eyes, that scarce the Light endure, (So long unclos’d, they’ve watch’d thy doubtful Cure) To his Hephaestion
Song
The nymph in vain bestows her pains That seeks to thrive where Bacchus reigns; In vain are charms, or smiles, or frowns, All images his torrent drowns. Flames to the head he may impart,
On The Hurricane
You have obey’d, you WINDS, that must fulfill The Great Disposer’s righteous Will; Throughout the Land, unlimited you flew, Nor sought, as heretofore, with Friendly Aid Only, new Motion to bestow Upon the sluggish
The Critick and the Writer of Fables
Weary, at last, of the Pindarick way, Thro’ which advent’rously the Muse wou’d stray; To Fable I descend with soft Delight, Pleas’d to Translate, or easily Endite: Whilst aery Fictions hastily repair To fill
Ardelia to Melancholy
At last, my old inveterate foe, No opposition shalt thou know. Since I by struggling, can obtain Nothing, but encrease of pain, I will att last, no more do soe, Tho’ I confesse, I
To Edward Jenkinson, Esq
Fair Youth! who wish the Wars may cease, We own you better form’d for Peace. Nor Pallas you, nor Mars shou’d follow; Your Gods are Cupid and Apollo; Who give sweet Looks, and early
An EPISTLE From A Gentleman To Madam Deshouliers
URANIA, whom the Town admires, Whose Wit and Beauty share our Praise; This fair URANIA who inspires A thousand Joys a thousand ways, She, who cou’d with a Glance convey Favours, that had my